


Steve Disagrees

by chimaeracabra



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anger, Angry Steve Rogers, Comedy, Drama, F/M, Hubby!Steve, Humor, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, angry!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimaeracabra/pseuds/chimaeracabra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers can't stand the 2016 presidential race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve Disagrees

**Author's Note:**

> Funny, but not funny...But funny. I didn't feel like writing secondary essays after work today.

             The sound of something smashing causes Melissa to nearly drop the glass of iced water she's carrying. She had stopped dead in her tracks in the hallway.

            "Steve?!" she calls.

Melissa hurries into the den in time to find Steve slowly retracting his fist from the television screen, which is now open, broken. His chest heaves and his expression is that of rage. Melissa just about drops her glass on the table, rushing over to him. He finally looks down upon her as she grasps his right wrist, examining the knuckles, which are bleeding slightly.

            "Oh my _god_ , Steve! I know the TV wasn't really working right, but you didn't have to go and bash the screen in like some kind of caveman."

            The captain cocks a wheat gold eyebrow.

            "If I hear anymore talk about building a goddamn wall, I'm gonna have to do something about that bastard," Steve explains angrily. In fact, the anger is so intense that Melissa momentarily takes a step back from her husband, whose gaze is again fixed with a glare at the hole his fist had made in the TV. After a moment of processing what Steve has just said, she recalls that Donald Trump had been all over CNN, as _always_ , moments before she left the room to get her cold drink. She clasps Steve's wrist again, but he appears to be totally unaware of his bleeding fist.

            "Did you _hear_ what he said? I'm gone for a couple decades, and my country turns its back on all its values, and goes and nominates a piece of shit like this."

Melissa's heart skips a few beats. This anger is uncharacteristically extreme of the captain. She pulls him by the arm until he follows her into the kitchen, sighing.

            "Anyway, sorry about the TV, Melly," he finally says, calming down just a little bit. They had intended to get a smart TV over the weekend, anyway, so living without a television for a couple of days wasn't going to be the end of the world.

            "You know, it's the Republicans that helped end slavery," Steve continues, his anger slowly boiling back up, "And _now_ look at what that fucking party has turned into—pardon my French," he says, sighing again as Melissa runs the kitchen sink, plunging his fist under the stream. She glances up at him to find his eyes flitting back and forth as he continues rambling about the stupidity that is the 2016 presidential race. He brings up just about every dumb thing Trump has said in the past several months.

            "Most of the folks supporting this _dummy_ are just a bunch of racists that are glad they finally have a representative brave enough to actually _say_ the things they've always thought, or people who only care about their money and know that he'll protect it— _completely_ excusing the bullshit he's said about women and the fact that he pretty much incites race riots! It makes me sick! Remember what he said about Judge Curiel?! Donald Trump is the definition of ignorance— _everything_ that I and millions of other real men died fighting to put an end to in World War II. Do you know how many times that coward dodged the draft—but he wants to talk shit about veterans—the guys like me that went and serviced this country?! It's disgusting! And he knows _nothing_ about foreign policy…" Steve continues, slamming his uninjured fist on the granite countertop, causing Melissa to jump. She pauses in nursing his hand to turn and place both of hers on his heaving chest. His face is red like a cherry.

            "Baby— _calm down_! You're going to give yourself a heart attack!"

Steve's eyes catch sight of Melissa's, and he closes them for a handful of seconds, breathing deeply through his nose. She watches him intently for about five seconds before continuing to clean up his hand. She reaches for the fresh dishtowel she had just placed by the sink moments earlier and wraps Steve's fist in it, applying pressure. The sensation of his lips against her temple takes her by surprise.

            "I'm sorry," he says calmly, "I shouldn't have let him get to me… _again_." This is the first time that Steve actually broke anything while watching Trump on the news. Before, he'd only gone so far as to chuck the remote control across the room out of agitation.

            "I didn't mean to punch the TV—but I just _had_ to break something."

His teeth grit and the anger resurfaces slightly. Under her hands, Melissa can feel Steve's fist tighten. She gasps slightly at the increase in red staining through the light yellow cloth.

            " _Steve_ ," she says. Slowly, Steve pulls his wrist out of Melissa's grasp, pacing back and forth a moment, taking deep breaths.

            "It's fine, honey. Just a couple of cuts," Steve states. He seems totally oblivious to the pain, and Melissa recalls that he must have suffered much worse than a couple of split knuckles. He treats the injury like it's nothing.

            "Don't worry about the TV, Melly. I'll get a new one this weekend—I promise."

Steve finally pulls out a chair at the island table and parks himself there, staring out the window.

            "Steve, I don't give a rat's ass about the television. You need to control your anger…I think we should stop watching the campaign—"

            "Absolutely _not_ ," Steve retorts somewhat loudly, turning to face Melissa. He looks so shocked that she would even make such a suggestion. His shoulders drop regretfully when he analyzes her expression.

            "I promise I won't lose control again," he states sweetly with a set of puppy dog eyes.

            "I just…I _know_ that it will never make as much sense to you as it does to me, but I'm telling you, Melly, times have _changed_. And sometimes, I think for the _worse_. I can't stomach what my country is coming to, and I just know that if that man becomes president, I'm gonna lose my _goddamn_ _mind_."

            "You're already losing your mind, Steve," Melissa states, gazing over at his hand. Steve unwraps it, stretching the fingers a moment.

            "It'll be fine," he says calmly.

            "But I'm serious, Steve. You can't have that kind of outburst again. It's just not good for you," Melissa explains gently, approaching him. Steve sighs, throwing his head back and closing his eyes.

            "I know…Come here," Steve says calmly. At this point, Melissa is certain that his anger level has gone down to about 3. Steve wraps her in his arms. After standing there wrapped in his embrace for several seconds, he picks her up and sits her on his lap.

            "But I swear, if Trump becomes the next president, we're leaving the country."

For a moment, Melissa fights the urge to laugh, successfully quelling it.

            "Now, I _know_ that was a joke, because you aren't giving up on America just like that."

Steve smiles widely.

            "That's my girl."

His supple lips plaster to her cheek for a handful of seconds.

            "And, yeah, you're paying for that TV, since I bought the one you just wrecked."

To Melissa's relief, Steve laughs genuinely.

 

            "I've gotta say, Steve, I think the reception on this smart TV could be a _little_ better, considering how much of an advancement it is from that shit we had in the 40s," Bucky states. Steve leans forward on the couch to look Bucky directly in the eyes.

            "You're kidding, right? This thing cost me almost _five hundred dollars_ ," Steve explains.

            "What?! Why would ya bother to get it, then? I can think of about ten other things worth spending half a grand on. You two had a nice flat screen TV the last time I was over here, didn't they, Tasha?" Bucky asks, looking at Steve in disbelief. Steve clears his throat and Natasha laughs knowingly; Melissa had only told her about Steve's little blow up while watching the campaigns. Bucky's expression turns to that of confusion momentarily.

            "But anyway, I can't say that I've caught up as much as _you_ have enough to feel like I'd be an informed voter," Bucky admits, tilting a beer to his lips. Natasha rests her head on his shoulder while scrolling through her emails.

            "Bucky, _don't_ get him started on Donald Trump—I'm _begging_ you!" Melissa admits, placing a finger to her lips as if to silence him. Bucky grins at her. Steve begins to frown and blush, crossing his heavy arms and biting his bottom lip from inside his mouth. He sits back on the sofa again, looking a bit huffy.

            "Why…what happened?" Bucky asks. A few seconds pass and he looks from Melissa to Steve, then back and forth again. Melissa places her hands on Steve's thigh, whispering to him to calm down and remember what they talked about, rubbing his chest comfortingly. He spares her a blank glance once. Bucky then gasps.

            "Oh, man! Don't tell me—you want to vote for Trump and Steve's going for Hilary!" Bucky exclaims. Steve makes a face that basically says Bucky just personally insulted him.

            "I'd get a divorce if Melly ever did that to me," Steve states. His tone is far from raillery.

Natasha laughs out loud.

            "What? Aren't I right, babe? What am I missing here?" Bucky asks, tickling her for a moment. Natasha falls against Bucky's lap, so that she's resting across it on her back. He pushes a bionic hand through her red tresses.

            "Nat, don't bring it up," Melissa snaps.

            "Don't bring what up?" Bucky asks. Steve's face begins to redden and his expression hardens.

            "You told Natasha?" he asks Melissa, looking dissatisfied. Melissa sighs, letting her head drop back against the couch.

            "Told Natasha _what_?" Bucky asks just about desperately, eying everyone in the room. Natasha can't keep a straight face anymore.

            "I know what that face means," Bucky says, staring Steve down. He eyes Melissa again, tacitly asking her what went down.

            "It's _okay_ , Mel. I've seen Steve freak out on a talking screen before because he didn't like what it was telling him. Nothing abnormal. Don't worry, your husband doesn't need to be committed," Natasha explains, cocking a firey brow. Steve sighs, looking agitated.

            "What the hell is going on?" Bucky finally asks only half jokingly, tired of being kept out of the loop.

            "They were watching the news the other night, Trump was on talking smack, and when she left the room, Steve punched the TV and broke it," Natasha explains, before lifting her head to kiss Bucky's chin, lying back down across his lap. Bucky giggles momentarily.

            "I thought you said the other one broke on its own," he explains.

            "It _did_ break on its own. The damn remote stopped working right," Steve snaps impatiently.

            "But he _did_ also punch a giant hole in it," Natasha adds with what sounds like disinterest, "I can even pull up the photo Melissa took and texted to me."

            "You sent pictures?" Steve asks in disbelief, glaring down at Melissa a moment.

            "Okay— _you_ watch a full minute of Donald Trump talking about immigrants and try to tell me it doesn't make you want to break his face, even if it _is_ just through a television set," Steve says loudly to Bucky, whose eyes have widened. He pauses in tilting his beer to his lips, Natasha flashing her phone in front of his eyes for a few seconds.

            "I don't think I need to at this point," Bucky states, taking Steve's word for it. Steve had begun to lean forward in his seat again, almost jumping off the couch. Melissa places both of her hands on his shoulders, not wanting an instant replay of Tuesday night. And finally, Bucky laughs. The sound of Trump's voice meets Steve's ear and his head snaps in the direction of the television.

            "Sorry," Natasha chimes, giving Melissa an equally expressive face as she reaches for the remote on the coffee table, turning the channel to Food Network.

            "Maybe try anger management," Bucky suggests cautiously and somewhat awkwardly, "Worked wonders for me," he says shrugging.

            "I don't _need_ anger management," Steve says, angrily.

            "You're not watching the news anymore. Our bank account can't afford it," Melissa explains with finality. Steve sighs somewhat sadly before looking his wife in the eye and nodding.

            "I think you're right," he admits quietly, kissing her a moment.

Natasha looks like she's about to burst.

            "If it's any consolation, I wouldn't even vote for anyone whose running," she says, smiling and shrugging. Melissa throws a cushion at her. Steve glances up at the TV where Rachael Ray is making a pizza from scratch.

            "All I know is," he begins, inhaling deeply, "Anything but Trump."


End file.
